Something In Between
by FoundAgain
Summary: What does it mean to kill for country?


**A/N: Ok. This was supposed to be a part of twenty years, my other story, but it was too long, and it couldn't be posted for another three chapters. I'm having severe writer's block with that story, so here's this one. Check out my profile for a link to my blog, where I've posted some music for your listening pleasure while you read. I think. Double line means flashback, a single line usually indicates a change in perspective, just fyi.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck.**

**

* * *

**

Something in between

He always thought that his first kill would be for country. That that was how he would justify it later, that it was for the better of man kind, that it spread peace and democracy, that it ended threats to those he cared about.

And maybe, technically, it was for country. It was done according to orders that he had long since forgotten... technically. However, technicalities aside, his first kill is against country. Not for anyone at all really. The general follow through was much simpler than he'd thought it would be. Pull back the safety, menacingly. Take aim, careful careful aim, fire. His target was dead and he felt nothing.

In return he received a pat on the shoulder from his partner, a free beer, and an honest confession.

I'm so glad you... hic... did that man, cause I swear to God that Bertram was right about you. He.. hic.. you know... what he said?

Uh.. no.

He... hic... said you was a traitor. That you was an undercover, working for the man, but.. hic... I'll tell 'm he was wrong, cause man... I never saw such a cold.. hic... blooded thing in my's whole life. Damn.

Chuck felt bad for his partner, he really did. The poor guy was trying to make in the world, just as he had tried, except he was doing it with a different agency. Weird world we live in.

His partner went by Luke. Just Luke. Chuck went by John, because he had a friend once that he didn't want to forget in certain life/death situations... which he'd been in since he'd started this job.

So, yes, it began with orders. He was to infiltrate blah blah blah, and would be home in so and so. Perhaps a week, maybe a couple of days. But then... he couldn't get out. Its kinda bad to say that he liked it that earlier on... but he did. These people, they respected him. And yes, he was respected back at home. He'd been in love (though how she felt about him was always up in the air), he had a loving family, a best friend, a shitty job, and well... when it became time to decide, the decision wasn't hard. Here, he didn't have to face his feelings anymore, and now he gets it.

He gets why the spy life had been so attractive to people like Sarah and Casey. He could join, and be a new person. No more baggage, no more feelings. And he likes no more feelings. He doesn't have to worry about them being crushed, or literally killed. He couldn't restart with the CIA/NSA, but he could over here. On the other side.

Months after his first kill, months minus a day from a pretty awful hangover for Luke, they're in rural China, hiking through waist high grass, wondering why the jump had been so off target.

They're on a mission to acquire some something something from a factory run by peasants. Shouldn't be too hard, but Chuck... John... knows how the other other side works. (And by that, we mean the CIA). They'll be there, with guns. He knows that the bad guys tend to underestimate the good guys, and that the good guys aren't afraid to shoot because they can do it legally. But what is legal, anyways?

So they go in and they get out, but Luke was shot by the CIA and bled out before they could reach the evac point. Luke's last words sounded something like:

Chuuck.. Chuck? Tell... tell Jennifer that... fizzle strawberries. Eggle...

Chuck couldn't quite tell what Luke had said, but he felt sad, Luke was his first partner, and now he would have to have a second. Chuck couldn't remember Luke mentioning a girlfriend, or fiance, or wife, or whatever before, so he wonders who Jennifer is. And then Chuck realizes that he never really told Luke much about himself either. They never shared their feelings... but maybe that didn't mean that they didn't have any.

Chuck remembers a girl he loved, but her name wasn't Jennifer, neither was it Jenny. It probably wasn't Sarah, and he wishes it wasn't Sam.

His fourth partner's name is Becky, and yes, she is female. She's brunette, and yes, technically objectively, one would say that she's... beautiful. Maybe in a Rachel way, but not in a Vicki Vale way.

They work together well, it's her first assignment, and she asks about his past partners. He shrugs, and she thinks the gesture is enough. Eh.

Becky is good with a gun, she can take out most good guys, and she likes him. He can tell. It's hard to run across a charming, seemingly honest, bad guy. Or... maybe it's not, but he's the only one she knows. She always touches his arm and brushes her body against his. She whisper's his name (John) and he finds it kind of weird. He'd never heard anyone say John like that before because the John he knew did really scream love machine... well.. there was that one time in that hotel with Ilsa...

But Chuck doesn't want Becky, he doesn't want anyone, so he requests a transfer, and the Director likes him so much that he obliges. Chuck becomes #2. He's always been pretty good at everything he sets his mind too... and now that includes evil doings.

He carries out personal assassination orders, against country. He kills high level colonels and even a general or two. He assassinates CIA operatives by pretending to be running from his undercover assignment. They come to rescue him, and he kills them. Simple.

Chuck lives in hotels. This week, he's in L.A., but he doesn't like to think of that. Sometimes, when he gives himself a second, he remembers that he's from here. That his family is here. He heard through unnamed sources that he was an Uncle, and had been for almost two years now. But that... that doesn't matter. The hotel is the Grand Ambassador, known for their cherries. His target: two of the CIA's best. A married couple with so many aliases, it had taken Chuck almost a whole day to find them. He hates research.

When he knocks on their door, he disobeys the command to just 'leave it,' and waits patiently. An elderly man opens the door, and Chuck shoots him, right in the forehead. He hears a gasp from inside and sees an equally elderly woman standing inside. He's glad she didn't decide to run. He shoots her in the chest.

* * *

We're not even sure if 'rogue' defines this situation. He never disobeyed us, technically. He's following orders - to the T.

Why are you calling me, General. It's been almost three years since you sent him off on the assignment. He' s been declared dead, you said you lost communication, I've been reassigned...

Yes, yes, yes. That's all true. Technically. He hasn't checked in since that operation in Cologne, but I have reason to believe that he is alive.

General... I... I don't need to go down this road again. It's over, he's buried.

Listen... John... We... After Cologne, there was an assassination in Munich. We found this, half burnt, in the remains of the apartment.

The question of who is on Casey's lips, but he stops when he sees the fragments of an old photograph. Bartowski and Walker. They're smiling, of course. Morons never seemed to understand what little there was to smile about in this world. But this picture... he was supposed to have died in Cologne, but the picture made it to Munich... He's alive, and he's on the other side...

What does this mean.

This means that Chuck Bartowski is a dead man, Colonel. The man you knew, that we all knew, died. But there is a man out there that wears the skin of Chuck Bartowski, and he has reached a dangerously high height on the NSA's most wanted list.

How... how is this possible?

That, is something we really don't know. But I can assure you that there is an ex-CIA agent out there that probably does.

The link is terminated, and Casey sits down into his chair. He'd been stationed in Burbank for the past three years, knowing full well that it was a kind form of retirement. And now... now...

He has to get the team back together. For better or worse.

* * *

The dead agents were married, Chuck learns. As he moved the bodies, a golden band had slipped off the man's finger. Inscribed: True Love Always. He wonders what mission they were on when they got married. He looks down at his own naked finger, but can't remember if his ring had been inscribed or not.

His phone alerts him that he's been in the room for too long, so he leaves the way he came. No one asks any questions. And if they had, he would have answered them in Russian. He has a meeting with the director tomorrow in Greece. He has a plane to catch.

In the airport, after security, he sees a familiar face. John Casey. Chuck almost approaches the man, his mentor, but thinks better of it. He can't just walk up and say, Hi. I'm John, and I'm the international assassin you're looking for.

Chuck boards when the stewardess calls for first class. Casey boards when she calls for second. The flight is uneventful.

* * *

She enjoys watching the rough waves lap against the rocks below in the morning. The violent action of the graceful movement is some sort of natural paradox, only existing because it does. No reason to it.

Her home, (Yes, her home), rests above the craggy rocks in a small village. It has a name, but she often has trouble pronouncing it. Although she's traveled the world and is fluent in most European languages, Greek is never one she mastered. She enjoys her silence. She wakes with the sun every morning and jogs down to the bottom of the small mountain the village rests on, and the runs back up. She guesses it's close to ten miles. She hopes its twelve, so she doesn't feel guilty about being so inactive.

After showering and dressing for the day, she often goes to the market for fresh food. What limited language skills she's picked up are food-related. She returns home with some fruit for breakfast, thinking she'll return later to pick a fish for dinner.

She waves to her neighbor, who waves back.

She sees a happy couple strolling the street, and she wonders if Chuck would have liked it here. She looks at her finger, and wishes that the ring resting there would bring him home to her.

* * *

Chuck falls asleep on the plane, despite all his attempts not too. The only time he isn't in control is in his sleep, and when an agent loses control... he loses his life. Chuck had taken advantage of that fact too many times.

He dreams of Sarah, as he usually does. The dreams are never as full of longing as you would think. They're simple. This time, they're grocery shopping together, and he's asking her what kind of milk she wants. He doesn't hear the answer, but his dream self picks out a percentage and places it in the cart. Chuck tries to see what it is, but he can't. He forgets it as he realizes that Sarah took off without him down the snack aisle. But when he turns the corner she isn't there. And then he wakes up.

Sir? Sir? The plane is preparing for landing, please fasten your seat-belt.

Yes, yes. Sorry.

* * *

Once in Greece, Casey hands the address the General had given him to the squat man sitting atop a donkey. The man points at the small carriage attached to the donkey by a frayed rope. Casey says a short prayer to Reagan, and climbs in.

After a very tedious hour, he reaches the top of mountain, alive. He pays the driver, thinks about patting the donkey, and walks down the street in the direction (supposedly) of Erica Lang, retired photojournalist's, home. Some cover, Walker. He wonders if this is at all worth it. Chuck is dead, maybe things should stay that way.

* * *

Chuck gets into the black car waiting outside the airport. He knows it will take him to Bertram, the director. He knows that a gas inside the car will leave him unconscious for the ride. As he gets inside, he makes himself comfortable. No sense in meeting the director with a sore back.

He dreams of the grocery store, as if he hadn't woken in between the time in the plane and this time in the car. He walks down the snack aisle, wondering where Sarah's taken off to. He turns down the next aisle, and sees her picking an item off a low shelf.

Yams and blueberries? Isn't that kind of disgusting?

Yeah... but look how healthy it is!

Look, honey, I think I'd rather have an average, normally healthy, happy baby instead of a super-baby that hates me because I fed him a mushy yam/blueberry mixture as a child.

Her, Chuck, we've been through this. And she will never hate you.

His dream self laughs at her. Chuck thinks its weird that his dream self laughs. Aren't your dreams a reflection of your deepest thoughts? His thoughts aren't very happy.

We're figuring that out next week! We don't know yet!

I'm telling you, it's a girl. A mother knows these things...

He sees the image of his dream self fading, bending to kiss Sarah's nose. A different drug is being pumped into the car now, rousing him from his slumber. But... he wants to stay. He wants this dream...

Agent, the director is waiting for you.

Chuck shakes his head at the automated voice. He opens the car door, and notices that he's already inside the building. And there are no visible doors out. Interesting. He follows a flashing light to elevator, gets in, and presses the only button available. X.

* * *

Casey's surprised at how quaint the house is. There isn't any visible security, and he spots at least six flaws in the location leaving it vulnerable to attack. He's more surprised that the door is opened quickly, she mustn't have even checked to see who was calling. He's outright shocked by the smile on her face. Walker looks almost... happy.

But then, well, she notices him.

Casey...

Walker. Mind if I come in?

She steps aside, giving him better access to her home. He notices the small open windows and the spacious room. Tactically inefficient. The windows face the ocean rather than the street, so he doesn't subtract as many points as he would have. He wonders what odd disease destroyed the half of her mind that worked for bodily defense.

Cozy home you got here.

It keeps me safe at night.

He grunts in response, and he notices that she smiles. That she knows he doesn't approve, and she doesn't give a damn. She's behind a small counter pouring hot water for tea, he assumes she's in her kitchen.

Do you want some? I was just making it before you knocked.

No. Thank you.

She settles herself on a couch with her tea in hand. She curls her legs beneath her and cools the hot drink with her breath. Casey notices the heat, must be nearing 100, and wonders what possessed her to make hot tea.

Tea comforts me Casey, just because it's warm outside doesn't mean I feel it. I think we should just jump in to it. Why are you here?

He thinks about her statement before responding. Mostly because he doesn't want to tell her that he is on a Chuck-hunt. Just because it's warm outside is exactly why she should feel it. Women. He really stands no chance of understanding them.

The General says that Chuck is alive.

To her credit, she doesn't make any noticeable reaction. She doesn't spit out her tea, drop the cup, scoff, shout, cry, or even widen her eyes. She continues the sip she was making, and returns her attention to Casey, waiting for him to finish. He notices the twitch of her ankle, protruding behind her bent knees, suggesting that her foot is shaking.

She's ordered me out of my pseudo-retirement to bring him in. He's a wanted man Walker.

Why are you here Casey.

She thinks you may know... why. Why he went rogue. I personally think where would be most helpful, but I guess why could be a start...

Her foot is still shaking, and its starting to irritate him. She's completely calm, except the damn foot. He wants her to show emotion, to be as shocked as he was, to ask questions, to be confused!

I don't know Casey, I haven't seen him since Cologne.

You saw him in Cologne? What were you doing there?

Her foot is still shaking, but he can see that he's cornered her now. He feels a bit guilty for harassing one of the best partners he ever had, but the guilt is washed away by the knowledge that he hadn't ever heard an order that involved one Sarah Walker visiting Cologne. She closes her eyes, like she's bracing for impact.

It was a social visit.

You flew all the way out to Germany just to talk to Bartowski.

Yes.

Her goddamn foot is still twitching, and Casey can feel his eyebrows start to quiver. He doesn't know where the anger is coming from, his training left him months ago... he's missing something.

Look, Casey, if that's all...

She knows. She _knows_. That has to be it. She knows he's been alive. She wants him to leave so that she can stop lying. Her static reaction not only functioned as the reaction of an emotional agent trying to be unemotional, but as a woman who didn't care because she already knew. He was relaying old news.

No, that isn't all. _Walker_.

Things quickly begin to come together. She's relaxed because she's given up. She isn't hiding from depression, but from the truth. She knows Chuck had gone bad, truly bad. She's... the clink of her finger on the cup breaks his thoughts. The single noise rang loudly throughout the house. She smirked at him as she watched realization dawn on his face.

_Bartowski_.

I told you, it was a social visit.

You _married_ him? While he was undercover?

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

You weren't... you know...

No, God, no. We'd never even had sex.

He's grunts, disgusted.

He "died" that night anyway. We never... consummated... the marriage. I have his ring, actually. He couldn't take it with him.

He expected her to go and get said ring. Instead she pulls it out of her pocket and places it his palm. He feels a tiny inscription on the inside of the ring.

It just says 'Chuck & Sarah', nothing too complicated. It was my idea actually, so that I could always have a little piece of him, even if it was just his name.

He examines the inscription. Chuck & Sarah, engraved on an unbreakable ring, a circle never ending. A tangible symbol of what the two idiots did that day. So the real question, then, is what happened on the wedding night?

* * *

Chuck shakes the directors hand, and Bertram nods for him to sit.

You've been doing excellent work these past months, John.

Thank you sir. Just following orders.

Yes, well, I have one last order for you.

What do you mean by last?

The director laughs at the sudden confusion that flashed across his agent's face.

No, no, don't worry John. You're too precious to lose. I figured you might need a short vacation, take a couple days off. That's all. But first, I want you to eliminate this target.

Bertram pushes what looks to be an empty manilla folder across the sparse desk. Chuck nods at the director, and moves to leave the room. He knows to wait until he's out of out the director's presence to examine the file. As pushes the elevator button, the director calls out.

John, one more thing, just... this is a big one. One that could raise our organization to the top. Don't screw it up. I'm counting on you.

Chuck waits as the elevator doors close before he opens the file. Inside is a single sheet of paper with a name, face, place, and date:

General Diane Beckman, Tringali Convention Center - Istanbul, October 30.

Well, shit. That's tomorrow. He hopes the plane ride has peanuts.

* * *

Casey waits patiently for Walker to return from the market with food for dinner. She invited him to stay, if he wanted the whole story. He isn't quite sure if he'll end up with the whole story, but he's fairly certain he'll learn what he needs. He's staring out into the ocean, unaware, when she walks in.

Walker! Didn't hear you coming.

I know, don't you love it? You could be lost out here forever.

It isn't safe.

She sighs. He wonders why the thought of her safety bores her.

Look, Casey, I'm done with being safe. It's exhausting. I'll die out here, sure. I don't want it to be a battle, I want it to be unexpected. I'll welcome it just like I welcomed you. Truthfully, I thought you were here to kill me.

He grunts, thinking that for all he knows, he was sent here to kill her. He could get the call at any second. He wonders if he'd be able to do it.

As she prepares dinner they make idle talk. They talk about simple things, she tells him of the town and he talks about Burbank. They talk like they'd had a friendly conversation before. Except they hadn't. After dinner she invites him to sit down, and she braces herself for the emotional impact of the story by closing her eyes.

I was, actually, ordered by Beckman to see Chuck when he made a scheduled stop in Cologne. Truthfully, I was, from the beginning, intent on ignoring her orders. I decided to make it a social visit. I would stop in, say hi, and be on my way. I met him in a secure hotel room, he was expecting to see some nameless agent that would tell him to go back out into the field and do his job...

* * *

Sarah? What are you doing here!

He completely forgets the feeling of fear, of loneliness that he'd had out in the hallway. He grabbed her and pulled her into a hug.

God, this is fantastic! I've wanted to see you for so long, so long... Sarah, this place is awful. You have to get me out of here. The General... I don't think she understands what it's doing to me, to the intersect. I'm having... _evil_ flashes.

Chuck, Chuck, calm down! Listen, I have to tell you something very important. Promise me you won't freak out.

He breathes. In, out. She can feel his chest moving against her body and his breath on her cheek. He pulls out of the embrace, but continues to hold her at arms length. He looks deep into her eyes, and she realizes that she'd forgotten how it felt, what it meant, to look into his.

I promise.

It's more than the promise she asked for, she can see that much. He's promising to trust her, because he always has. He's promising to listen, to follow, to do whatever it takes to make sure that no harm comes to either of them. He can tell that circumstances have changed already. What training prepared him for this moment?

There is an order out to kill you.

He takes a sharp breath, and she can tell he's trying to quickly process and compartmentalize. Just as she would have done.

Beckman or Bertram?

She looks at him, in his dark suit with the gun protruding from his inside pocket. His long curls are gone and his eyes, although familiar and heartwarming, and starting to harden. He's becoming one of them. For country, for honor, for duty, for orders. For her. She knows he can't handle the truth.

I'm not sure... I intercepted a message... look, Chuck, you have to get out of here.

I can't leave my cover! If it's Beckman's orders and I escape, then I'll be on the run from both Beckman and Bertram. Sarah, I can barely outrun one international agency. I don't think I could handle two. Plus, I... I...

He moves across the room and lays down on the single bed. He covers his eyes with his arms and lets out a deep sigh.

You what Chuck.

I couldn't live knowing that I wouldn't be able to see you again. It wouldn't be the same.

She lets out some breath she must have been holding in. Of course she wanted to hear those words, they were the words she dreamed of, but not right now. He never seemed to understand the concept of timing. She slowly sat down next to him.

I mean it Sarah. I took this job because you said it would be the last one. You said I would be able to end this organization, to save the world. I just... I've always wanted to be _worthy_ of you.

Chuck!

She couldn't let him continue, he was wrong. Screw timing.

You've always been worthy! If anything, I'm not worthy of you! Look, you were this great, funny, charming, good, guy, and I've asked you to turn your back on everything you love.

I haven't turned my back on anything, can't you see?

He sat up, and looked at her. Then away. He looked around the room, and she could tell he didn't want to be here. To be having this conversation. Maybe because it wasn't the right time, maybe because he was afraid... maybe because he didn't want to scare her away.

Can't you see... being with you, seeing you, has made me... more... _me_. I want to be that guy for you, and I want to be the guy that you're allowed to have! I've always wanted to do something, to make a difference, and you've showed me how. You've never betrayed me, you've always supported me. You've believed in me this whole time, and... I.. I love you.

She felt as if the impact of the words were weighing her to the bedspread, but it was the truth. It's always been the truth... but it's impossible. He's deep undercover, and she's here to follow orders. Except... except maybe this _is_ the right time. They're both here, and he _loves_ her. So she lifted herself up, ready to face him, and whatever he brings along for the ride. Sarah wrapped her hands around Chuck's neck, and slowly pulled him toward her. And right before his lips were upon hers she whispered:

Marry me.

He kissed her with all the yes he could.

* * *

When Chuck arrived in Bertram's temporary office that afternoon, he was almost too happy for words. And Bertram noticed.

Afternoon John. I take it you had a good lunch?

Ah, yes. The best.

Hmm, yes, that's nice. Let's get down in business John. You see, I have a little problem with one of my people here in Cologne. One of my best.

Where is he? I'll do it.

Well, John, the problem is that it's you.

Chuck sits still. His breathing stops. Just as everything seemed to be going well, he learns he's probably going to be shot. right. here.

You see, John, there's a high level of CIA activity here in Cologne today, and you're watch shows that you've been visiting their hotspots. So I had one of my men do some research. Turns out, John, that you are a CIA agent.

Chuck makes no move to defend himself. He knows Bertram, and knows that the man has already made a decision. This is just a part of the torture.

Here's the big problem though, John. My man found out that one of the agents here in town is on a red op. You know what that means John? And my man found your picture inside her purse. You see John, your agency is here to kill you.

Bertram puts a manilla folder in front of Chuck.

Listen John, I know you don't want to die. And truthfully, I don't want to lose you. Agency or not, you've always followed orders perfectly. If you continue to do so, I don't see why I should have to get rid of you. Take care of your own threat, and the problem here will be solved.

Chuck reaches for the folder, silently, and stands up. He knows that gratitude will only be judged as a weakness.

Go ahead and look John. Take a peak. Tell me if you know her.

He looks.

I know her.

* * *

It's the only way.

I understand that it goes against orders, General, but I can't do it face to face.

No.. that's not possible.

No! We have a history together, we were partners. Just... please, General, let me have this one.

Thank you General. I understand. The bomb will make it look like someone had a smoke during a gas leak. The room will be destroyed, there will be no biological traces.

I understand.

As the links disconnects she delicately hooks the final wire into place. She expertly moves the timer. Five hours from now, Chuck Bartowski will be presumed dead, and she will be his wife. She smiles.

* * *

Chuck meets Sarah outside a small chapel. He's wearing a cheap suit, she's in the first white dress she could find. He takes her hand, and they walk inside.

After convincing the residential pastor in some shaky German that they had to be married immediately, for reasons that were implied but not disclosed, they stood through a short mass, gently whispering I Do when it sounded like the priest was waiting for them to say something. Two passerby's watched as witnesses. It was practically meaningless. They couldn't understand the language, neither of them were very religious, and the man in the trench-coat looked like he was poised to flash everyone in the room...

But it was perfect. The cheap rings had been inscribed as fast as the ringmaker could inscribe them, Chuck's hands were dry and calloused, hers dirty and oily from her previous tinkering. His mind was on his orders, as were hers. Yet for one second there, when the German stopped, and he rasped those two words. She knew she was doing the right thing. And when she looked from her feet to his eyes, when she tightened her grip on his hands and looked beyond what their bosses wanted, what her country demanded, he knew he'd made the right decision. For better or for worse.

They were married, and not as particularly out of the blue as they thought. It'd been a long time coming.

They burst out of the chapel, and he leads her, hand in hand, to a bed and breakfast a few blocks over. Running the whole way. Outside their door he lifts her up bridal style, and she laughs. He laughs. Her arms are around his neck, trusting him to get her through the threshold. He navigates his way through the door, and throws her onto the bed.

God, I love you. Too much, I think.

There's no such thing as too much love, Chuck. I've learned from the best.

And who is this great teacher you speak of, Mrs. Bartowski?

She drags him by his tie, and they kiss slowly. Cherishing the moment. She can feel his smile as she pushes against him. Wanting more, always wanting.

His hand moves around her back, pressing her body against his. It's a perfect fit, the way she fits into him. His hand moves farther down, farther, farther.

Mmphf.

He breaks away, and is too busy pulling at the cold hard object tucked against her skin to notice the confusion in her eyes.

Sarah.. what...

He pulls it out quickly, knowing it from the moment he felt it.

Chuck, I always have a gun... it'd be ridiculous

But he isn't listening. He sees her mouth move, but hears Bertram's voice. An operative on a red op. Here to kill him. A mission, orders. Her picture, slowly revealed in the envelope. I know her. _But I don't believe it. _

...consider our safety...

Stop it! I _know_!

She stops lecturing him on the thirty foot rule, realizing the game had changed.

I know why you're here! This, all of this! You've been lying this whole time!

Chuck, I haven't lied to you...

Bertram told me, but I didn't believe him because _you could never betray me_, but you're going to _kill_ me on our wedding night!

He's standing now, far from the bed. Running his hands through his short hair, pacing back and forth. She moves to sit up slowly, her hands raised (his hands are wildly moving the weapon about).

Chuck, listen. Beckman ordered me to..

I _know_! I know, she's tired of the intersect killing people off in Europe! They were her goddamned orders! _She_ told me to do this! And now she's fucking ordering me dead!

Chuck! _Listen_

He stops. Somehow her words make it through, and he freezes. The gun limp at his side, his eyes cooling down. He looks at her, but doesn't wait for her to speak. He points his finger

All I ever wanted was for you to say you loved me.

Chuck, please, believe this

And, well, you never did...

Chuck! I love

Shut Up! You married me, the mark, was that the plan? Yes, Chuck, oh please Chuck, till death do us part Chuck!

And then he flashes. She doesn't understand why at first, there wasn't any apparent reason, no trigger. But as his eyes continue roll back into his head, she quickly realizes the danger she'd placed herself in. She hears his voice from earlier, when he first saw her, echoing something about evil flashes. What he'd done undercover, how it was affecting him, his mind, the intersect. He'd been afraid, he was losing control.

His anger, always the anger. He's angry with himself, for being stupid enough to believe that she _loved_ him. To believe that she was here to _see_ him. To believe that she wanted to _marry_ him. The anger blinded him, the flash consumed his mind. And when it was over, all he heard was a shot.

The gun was smoking, and she was lying back on the bed. Anger melded to confusion, confusion to panic. He _shot_ her. He ran.

* * *

She heard the door slam, and opened her eyes. Everything was over, it was silent. Which wasn't exactly what she was expecting earlier in the day. She checks her watch. In half an hour Chuck Bartowski will be presumed dead, and she will still be married. Chuck had just tried to shoot her. Thank God she had loaded her gun with blanks.

She'd flinched, falling to the bed, when the gun went off... everything happened so fast. Suddenly, she bolted up, realizing that Chuck had run off, possibly thinking that he _killed_ her. And he still didn't know the whole story. She ran, taking the stairs, down to the street level, only to find that he was long gone. She returned to the room.

* * *

All he remembers between the hotel room and the CIA safe room is the bitter wind biting at his cheeks. He ran the whole way, not knowing where he was heading. Soon enough, however, he regained consciousness. He's on the elevator, riding up to the floor where he'd met Sarah earlier today. Sarah, his wife, whom he killed. He stumbled down the hall, not knowing why or what possessed him to return to this place. He's shouting and raving and stumbling and cursing, looking for the room. He'll learn later, when seeing the security feed, what he'd done. What he'd asked for:

Please, General, kill me now! Please! I didn't... I didn't mean to, I swear, I swear please... for Sarah... just take it all...

And then the floor exploded.

* * *

The alarm on her watch went off on time, waking her from her reverie. She hadn't moved from her spot on the bed since Chuck had left. But now it was all done. The bomb she had placed had exploded, and the General believed Chuck to be dead. Chuck thought she was dead. Mission accomplished, excellent job Agent Walker, you fuck-up.

Earlier in the day, she thought she'd be... pleasantly occupied... when the phone would ring. So she had her cell on silent. When Chuck left, she turned it back on. The crisp ring let her know that the day was over, that, yes, she'd done another great job. She'd eliminated an asset with only some second thoughts. Yes, she'd failed to tell the man she loved that she did, in fact, love him. She deserves a goddamn medal for her sacrifice to the greater good.

Walker. Secure.

Yes, thank you Ma'am.

That would be an honor General, but

General, please, if you'd listen...

No! No, look. I'm done. I quit, whatever. I can't do this anymore.

Of course it's because of him! Everything is because of him! How did you expect me to do this, to be fine with this!

Yes. He is. I made sure of it.

No traces.

Thank you General, it's been an honor serving under you. Send my regards to the CIA.

Yes, of course. I'll probably find a small house in

I'm sorry, I understand. You won't here from me again. Goodbye Diane.

The call ended, and she felt free. She loved Chuck. She was married to Chuck, and she was going to find him, if it was the last thing she did. He would know that she loved him, that she hadn't tried to kill him. She would take him away from all the pain he'd endured. She was done being Agent Sarah Walker. Time to be Sarah Bartowski.

* * *

His eyes are still closed, but he can pinpoint the moment that the lights flicker on. His dark world becomes exponentially lighter through his eyelids. A chair is moved close to him. A man sits down, and waits. He keeps his eyes closed for another eternity. His body hurts all over, and he's certain that his arm is broken. Pains don't normally stab like that.

Come on John, I'm getting impatient.

He quickly opens his eyes, and tries to adjust to his surroundings without making a scene. Bertram is sitting behind him, a little to the left. The odd bend in his forearm tells him that his thoughts were right. His arm is definitely broken.

Continuing to look down, he notices that he isn't chained to the chair. He's wearing a suit, but not the one he'd had on...

Earlier. Earlier, when he killed Sarah.

Bertram stands up, and hands Chuck a gun. He accepts it, he doesn't acknowledge it.

Now, John, one final test. I know you took care of your problem, but I need to know that you've put it behind you.

In front of him, Chuck sees a figure dressed in loose black linens. A sack over his head. Chuck can hear the man whimpering.

Kill your past John. Eliminate the CIA from your thoughts. This man is your life, your life with that corrupted system. Kill him.

With his good arm, he shoots the man. He doesn't move from the chair. The shot cracks in the small white room, blood pools onto the the floor. The man stops whimpering, yet somehow, Chuck can still hear his screams inside.

In the back of his mind, Chuck sees operatives pouring gasoline inside the room, on top of the body. Bertram pulls on his sleeve. Time to go, time to go. Chuck pats his chest pocket. His wallet is there. As everyone else runs out of the room, running by the agent striking a match, Chuck reaches into the crevices of his wallet, withdrawing a folded picture.

It's of the two of them, long before any of this. Before he was an agent, before they were in love, before any of this drama. Back when he was Chuck and she was Sarah; they'd thought that was hard.

But now Sarah Walker... Sarah Bartowski, is dead. He tosses the picture into the flames as Bertram drags him from the scene and into a helicopter. He can't help but watch as the building goes up in flames underneath him. Chuck Bartowski died with her.

Well, John, welcome to Munich.

* * *

* * *

So, that's it. I used my savings to buy this place... I assumed Beckman would keep an eye on me, but truthfully I didn't expect to see you again, Casey.

Damn. Well, that really doesn't give me much. He could be anywhere, anytime. Are you sure he hasn't ever contacted you?

He thinks I'm dead Casey. One day we'll get our timing right. I'll wait.

He figures he's got all she can give him. He gets up to leave.

Take care of yourself Walker.

As he reaches for the handle for the door, he notices that she's giving him an odd smirk.

What?

_It's_ _Bartowski_.

* * *

Chuck rents a compartment on the train to Turkey, in order to catch up on sleep. He's learned that when sleep is necessary, it's best to do it in a bed. Preferably inside a locked room. He dreams of Sarah.

He's at home. Not a home he's ever seen before, but rather the home of his dreams, obviously. He walks by the stairs, indicating a second story, and sits in the front room. The couch is nice. Outside he spots a perfect white picket fence. A sleek porsche pulls into the driveway, and a warm feeling rises in his chest. He waits impatiently on the couch for his wife to come back in from her errand.

When she walks through the door he springs from the couch and embraces her. He kisses her forehead, and then leans down to kiss the child in her arms.

How was Mommy and Me?

She smiles at him, and his chest feels warm again. She doesn't answer, but hands him the child. He can't explain it (even though this is his mind), but when the child is in his arms he feels an uncontrollable, irresistible, overwhelming, joy.

Her bright blue eyes and curly blonde wisps of hair are perfect. Seeing her little toes wiggle are the highlight of his day. He whispered in her ear, filling his voice with immeasurable love. In return, she gurgled. He smiled at her, he smiled at his wife. He didn't know his heart could bear so much happiness.

And then the train stopped to let on more passengers, and he awoke with the jolt from the breaks. He headed to the dining car for a cup of coffee. Sleep is overrated.

* * *

Casey received orders to meet the General after her talk on international terrorist groups during the World Summit Spy Convention. This year, it's in Istanbul, conveniently. He left Walker's residence and jumped on the next flight, touching down quickly. He'd moved on in under a few hours.

On the flight he thought about what Walker said, that Chuck must have lost himself because 'the intersect' shot her. He isn't sure if he believes it. He knows that the moron would never shoot Walker, he was too love struck, and he doesn't believe that the intersect could control Chuck. He'd had one of the strongest minds scientists had seen...

But maybe that was the point she'd been trying to make. The assignment had destroyed him. He'd done things he'd never imagined, cold-blooded, cold-hearted things. Things that he'd had to turn his mind off to do, therefore letting the intersect take over. And ever since Cologne... he hadn't turned himself back on.

Casey patiently listened to Beckman's presentation, it was nothing new. Bad guys here, bad guys there. Bad guys are everywhere! Be prepared! When it seems that she's reaching a conclusion, Casey heads for the backstage.

* * *

Chuck watches the events unfold from a rafter. Whoever invented rafters must have been a part-time assassin. Over the past three years, rafters had become his best friends. The General's speech was boring, he'd been to many of these conventions, and had heard this talk before. They were all the same. Bad bad bad everywhere. Kill the bad. But... if you kill the bad, doesn't that make you bad too? Does that mean we should kill the heroes?

The General wraps it up eventually, and Chuck watches as security moves backstage to escort her out. There's only one man, Chuck isn't too worried. He screws the silencers onto his pistol, prepares his tranq gun, and jumps down when they're practically beneath him.

The General quickly steps behind the burly bodyguard, who quickly draws his gun.

Hey!

Sorry, didn't mean to jump out at you like that.

Chuck shook his legs out, he must have miscalculated, it felt like his ankle was a little loose. He heard the bodyguard grunt in reply. He lazily lifted his gun. He'd learned, over the years, that the trick was to act incompetent. To pretend to be confident, and then strike.

Well, General, I'm afraid you're going to be coming with me.

The bodyguard took a step left, so Chuck followed. He realized that this put him into the light. Guess he'd have to kill both of them now.

Chuck?

Please, General, don't make this more difficult than it has to be. Tell your dog to sit, and I'll let him go.

Casey was too shocked to reply. Chuck was standing right in front of him, trying to kill an NSA General, and he didn't even respond to his own name.

John,

Casey ignored the General. She may be his superior, but he'd been in the field longer.

John, this isn't you.

This is exactly who I am. Now drop your weapon.

Casey quickly realized that the General was addressing Chuck. Chuck was John. He wasn't sure if he should feel honored or offended. He realized that maybe Chuck was still there, hiding beneath John. That there was a man in there that loved Sarah Bartowski, and would do anything to see her again.

John,

Chuck averted his attention from the General to the bear-like figure blocking her.

John, listen to me very carefully.

I don't listen to anyone! Now, carefully, put your gun down.

Sarah is alive.

Shut up! Drop your weapon!

You didn't kill her John, she's still waiting for you!

You don't know, no one knows, I was there! She's dead! She's, I... I killed her. And I'm going to kill you.

Chuck cocked his gun, but Casey took a step forward, he motioned to raise his hands, he put away his own weapon.

You could have killed us both by now, but you didn't John. Deep down, you know this is wrong. You recognize me, you know the General. Your wife, Sarah, is alive, Chuck. You. Didn't. Kill. Her.

Casey watched as Chuck slowly emerged, his façade melting away. He hesitantly lowered his gun, his focus wavered, his eyes shone bright. He hesitated.

Can you... can you tell me where she is?

And suddenly he wasn't an untouchable, lethal, assassin. He was Chuck. Innocent, uncertain... Chuck. So Casey told him, and before he knew it, Chuck was gone. Casey turned to the General as if nothing happened.

Can you explain to me what just happened here?

General...

No, Colonel! I ordered you to kill that man, and instead you allow him to threaten my life, and then run off after another agent? What were you thinking?

I couldn't do it General, not face to face... I can't explain it...

What is it with you agents and Bartowski? He's a mark! Your orders stand. Kill him.

I understand... but I think I'll need a favor.

What? This better be good Casey.

Call Walker, get her out of town. For anything, it shouldn't matter. Maybe some paperwork, an award, whatever. We can't let Bartowski see her. I know where he's going, I'll take care of him, but Walker needs to be out of the way.

Fine. I'll do what I can. You are dismissed.

* * *

He flies back to Greece, impatient to complete this final mission. He doesn't fall asleep; he's already living the dream. He can picture her face when she opens the door, he can see himself taking her in his arms, his face in her neck, his hands in her hair. Her warm body pressed against his. He'd apologize, over and over and over and over until she insisted that he stop, that she loves him, that she understands. That she was never going to betray him. That she loves him. She loves him, she loves him, she loves him.

Chuck arrives promptly, and takes a car to the base of the village, where he waits for a local man to return with the cart to the top. He looks up the mountain, and imagines her sitting at the top, looking down on him, waiting for him to reach her.

* * *

Casey gazes down the scope of his rifle. He feels the harsh sun beat down on his neck, and hopes that the sunscreen he applied hours earlier holds up. He's been watching for activity in the house across the street for the past hour, and hasn't seen any. He's hoping that that means Beckman held up her end of the operation.

More along the line of later, rather than sooner, he sees the cart and donkey ensemble travel up the mountainous path. He checks his gun, the scope, the wind. His stomach churns, he settles it by clearing his thoughts. This is only another mission.

* * *

The lady is very nice here.

Uh, yeah, she's the nicest.

Yes, my wife is very nice, but not as nice as her. You must be a good man, for such a nice woman.

Chuck laughs at his escort. He isn't a good man at all, but he thinks he wants to be.

Are we almost there?

There? Yes, yes there soon.

Eventually, a little bit longer than 'soon' implied, Chuck is standing outside the residence of Sarah Bartowski, his wife. His wife. He feels a sudden panic, and wishes he brought something for her. Flowers, chocolate... a souvenir... he wants something to hold, somewhere for his hands to rest. He feels the sweat trickle down his back and adjusts his hat. He thinks about taking his coat off, but then realizes that he's getting ahead of himself. He knocks.

* * *

Through the scope, he sees the cart drop off a man, but he looks nothing like the mark. His finger pressures the trigger, but doesn't pull. He waits. The guy will have to turn around and leave eventually.

* * *

The door opens slowly, but not hesitantly. And he sees her. Sarah, alive.

_Alive_.

Sarah..

Her name is a breath of fresh air, a release of an energy so powerful it had almost consumed him. She is the image of a goddess, holding the gates of heaven open to him; a goddess dressed in cotton shorts and a loose tank-top.

Chuck?

The confusion is apparent on her face, but is quickly wiped away by joy. Questions can be answered later. Chuck is here now. Chuck is _here_. She places her hand on his chest, and he feels as solid as something real should.

Chuck!

Her blue eyes are shining, filled with tears. And he thinks his are too. His cheeks hurt from his pressing smile, his heart is sore from soaring, his knees are weak from her image. He grabs the door frame for support. She reaches into her back pocket while grabbing his hand with hers.

Silently, she slips his ring onto his finger, caressing his hand, cherishing the moment. He looked into her eyes as she concentrated on the action. She was beautiful. Chuck laughed out of disbelief, he looked around to make sure it was all real.

Chuck?

Sarah, you're _alive_! I can't belie

He collapsed into her arms, to catch him she steps out of the shadows of her home.

Chuck?

He lays limp in her arms, which is odd. Perhaps this was too much excitement, she can feel his tears on her shirt...

Except she can't. Not tears, they aren't tears. As she supports his body, she sees the red stain blooming across his white shirt. The blood flowing out of a small black hole.

_no_

She whispers, out of disbelief. She examines him all over, checking, checking checking. She runs her hands over his back, and feels the depression. A hole, the kind associated with bullets.

No, no. Chuck! Come on, Chuck, no!

She holds his face and kisses him, desperately, pleading for him to respond, except he can't. Her hands are covered in his blood. Her clothes are soaked through. She cries out hopelessly

Chuck! Please, Chuck, please!

It's too late, too late. She pulls him close her to her body, and lets out a sob on his cold shoulder. She opens her eyes and looks to the sky, begging for him to return. The rays from the bright sun reflect off the scope on the rooftop across the street.

* * *

He saw the whole scene unfold through the scope. The visitor, who turned out to be the mark, seemed to be letting himself in. Casey thought he opened the door on his own, not seeing Walker in the shadows. He saw the mark look around, Casey assumed that he was checking to see if the coast was clear. When he turned his head, Casey saw his profile. He didn't allow himself to think, he pulled the trigger.

And then Walker stepped into the light. He cursed Beckman, the woman hadn't done the one simple thing he'd asked. Beckman was the one who had destroyed Chuck in the first place, then the one who had asked Casey to clean up her mess. Now she's inadvertently destroying what used to be one of the CIA's best agents. When Walker pulls out her gun, (he knew that she wouldn't give up that last line of self-defense) he doesn't move. He lets her pull off her seven shots, all of them far and wide. He slowly disassembles his weapon and walks off the roof. He ignores Walker's pleas. He exits on the other side of the house, careful to avoid... everything.

But avoiding it won't help, he knows that tonight he'll dream about that moment, watching his former partner's shocked face catch Chuck. The way she cried out when she saw that he was dead. Just.. dead.

He'll remember what she said about getting the time right. He'll remember Bartowski's transformation from killer to kid. He'll remember their first mission together, he'll laugh at all of Bartowski's dumb jokes. He'll wonder why he did it. He'll question if this was the one order he shouldn't have followed. He'll regret it. He'll wake up.

He'll think that he'd always thought his kills were for country. That he would kill to protect peace and democracy. To protect the good citizens of America. To protect his family and his few friends. He'll pour himself a glass of scotch and sit on his couch.

He'll think that maybe he'd never killed for country. And that this one kill, this direct order from a General of the United States, was absolutely a kill _against_ country.

His target is dead, and he feels everything.


End file.
